§ 133 Tired of Dealing With Crooks
A rugged person, who had acquired a considerable fortune in the wet-goods business in the old wideopen days in Denver, decided to invest some of his savings in oil and mining stocks. The venture, so far as he was concerned, did not prove a success. Between two suns both of his partners vanished and he was left to face a large deficit. While the wreckage was being cleared away by legal methods, the disillusioned ex-saloonist bared his inner feelings to his lawyer.
“Hal,” said the old fellow, “I’m through with this game. I’m goin’ to take what’s left—ef so be there is anything left—and go back out west where I belong. This here stock-brokin’ ain’t for me. The trouble with it is that it’s so full of crooks you don’t know who to trust. You can’t put no dependence in what these fellows tell you. They’ll hand you what seems to be a straight line of goods and then turn right around and double cross you.
“Now, I ain’t been used to doin’ business that way. Before I came here I never traded with none but square guys. For instance, now, you take it when I was runnin’ that bar in Denver. A fellow that I knowed would drop in to see me and show me some jewelry or silverware or somethin’ and ask me what I’d give him for it. I’d ask him where he got it and he’d say to me: ‘I lifted it to-night at Jones, the Banker’s house.’ ‘All right,’ I’d say, ‘I’ll give you so much for it.’ He’d say that suited him and I’d hand him the money and he’d beat it out of town. Then, next mornin’, sure enough there’d be a piece in the paper sayin’ the residence of Mr. Jones the banker had been robbed the night before, and I’d know I’d been doin’ business with a square guy.”